20-minute poems – no title

Open your eyes –
The glorious world is still here,
Humming and splitting its wild throat with song.

Look –
At the rusty belly of the vixen
Grazing the yellow of the primroses,
And the great metallic vectors of the branches
Shifting in the wind.

See –
The clouds are banking, and new things
Are pushing aside the slow, wet fragments of the earth
Urgent to be born.

Image: Brett Jordan



Mind in overdrive,
Creating, parsing, shuffling, filing,
Running comparative projections,
The engine revving and rumbling like a beast
Beneath the quiet geometries of the intermediate series.

And I give thanks for the cunning life of the cognitive mind,
The great survivor that ducks and dives its way
Through the material world.

Meanwhile, below the surface of the murky pond
The big bright fish swim slowly,
Languid as ancient summer afternoons.

17/3/20, When Social Isolation Has Just Been Decreed.
Intermediate series is one of the sequences of ashtanga vinyasa yoga.

Image: Sora Sagano




The most important thing is writing myself down
Like a diver on the end of this rope
Into the ocean of images
That startle only slowly into starbursts of words,
Bright and sporadic, like sudden shoals of fish
Blurting into the silent world.
The most important thing is to live in the floating place,
Is slowly to unspool.
Dispersing waters, edgeless and unbound, that’s me.
But two books back-to-back
Made a container for that –
A ewer, a jug,
A magic vessel from which the liquid of my days
Poured out dry, clean-edged, an artefact,
An army of ants
Pressed between covers and
Fixed in an aspic of time.
Image: Nate Neelson.